


Weary shoulders, hanging low

by mojohwrites



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: 24/7 heart eyes between these two, Episode: s01e04 Sanctuary, F/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Removing armor as a form of intimacy, The helment stays on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:03:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29943531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mojohwrites/pseuds/mojohwrites
Summary: For many warriors, the removal of armor is an intimate, vulnerable act.—Inspired by theMandomera Week 2021prompts: Pining & Trust
Relationships: Din Djarin/Omera
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Mandomera Week 2021





	Weary shoulders, hanging low

The sky was beginning to lighten by the time they’d finished dealing with the brutal aftermath of their defense. The buzz of adrenaline had worn off hours ago — after he and Cara tracked down the remaining raiders — leaving behind a bone-deep fatigue that made his steps heavier than usual. The two returned to find the villagers still celebrating; the ex-dropper joining in heartily but the Mandalorian honestly just wanted to sleep.

Din excused himself from the drunken festivities, trying his best to slip quietly into the barn — he didn’t want to wake the child and hoped that the little one would continue to sleep so that he could get some rest as well.

It was blessedly quiet here in the darkened space. Din came to a stop in front of the wooden crib and stood there silently, watching the soft rise and fall of the sleeping babe’s chest. Someone had taken the time to put the child to sleep after the terror of combat passed — Din’s head buzzed with gratitude. 

Releasing a heavy sigh, he felt his entire body pulse subtly with pain, each nick and bruise beginning to truly ache. He needed to remove his armor, which was still somewhat waterlogged and stained from battle. But the idea itself was tiring enough that he considered just collapsing into the cot despite the beskar.

He swayed slightly; Din brought a hand to rest lightly on the worn edge of the crib, his mind finally beginning to settle as he simply focused on breathing. He could afford a moment of stillness. 

Despite the exhaustion of body and mind, he didn’t miss the scrape of feet and a gentle cough from behind him. Steadying himself, he slowly turned to see Omera standing in the doorway.

Din couldn’t read her expression very well in the dim light, but he did notice that she’d changed clothing — the dress clinging to her form was lighter than the familiar, heavy frock she usually wore. Her long, dark hair framed her face, no longer pulled back into an intricate braid. 

Luckily, his stunned gasp was quiet enough that the vocoder didn’t pick up the sound.

“Do you need anything?” she asked softly.

He shook his head.

“No, just sleep. Thank you.”

Din could hear the warm smile in her reply, “We should be thanking you, again.”

“That’s...” he sighed, and this time the sound transmitted. “It’s fine.”

To demonstrate, he began to remove the rifle from off his back, raising an arm to grasp the stock. But he gasped unexpectedly when his shoulder twinged and he froze in place. Breathing loudly through the pain, Din screwed his eyes closed and wondered if perhaps he had pushed himself too hard. 

“Are you hurt?” came a worried question.

“No. Just—” he took a shaky breath, “ _—tight_.”

As he lowered it to the floor, the rifle’s stock hit the wood louder than he intended, causing the child to murmur in his sleep and the man to wince. Din gripped the barrel tightly as he gently leaned it against the wall and seriously considered sleeping in his armor. But now he had a visitor, a witness to his struggle.

He looked back to find Omera gliding over to him quietly, coming to a stop close enough to touch — but still somehow respectfully distant. 

“May I help you?” she asked in a low whisper, “With the armor?”

He didn’t answer at first. 

Din stared at her for several breaths, better able to see her expression now that she’s so close. There was a slight worried crease to her brow and understanding in her soft, dark eyes. She had never given him a reason to doubt her sincerity or kind intentions — and this would be a kindness. 

Cautiously he nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

Omera slowly reached for his hands, grabbing him by a wrist and then gently pulled him towards the cot. After a hesitant moment he sat down heavily, closing his eyes and blowing out a breath as another twinge raced up his back. His thoughts were drawn away from the pain though when a hand cupped the back of his calf. Confused, Din looked down to see Omera kneeling beside the cot, already easing a still mud-laden boot from his foot and setting it aside.

He swallowed and shifted awkwardly as his vibroknife was removed, followed by the other boot. Stockinged feet settled on the wood floor and he prayed the pond water and mud camouflaged any foul smell.

Omera then placed her hands lightly on the plates protecting his thighs, looking up into his visor with a question. He grunted softly and reached for the straps — but she brushed his gloved fingers aside gently, deftly working the buckles once she knew where they were. Din took a shaky breath and pulled both his hands into his lap; his fingers twitched as she silently worked. 

Cuisses removed and placed carefully next to the boots, she shifted upwards to sit next to him on the cot. Their legs and shoulders touched and he could feel the warmth of her through his flightsuit.

Omera quietly reached for his hands again, bringing them both to rest in her own lap. Starting at his elbow, her fingers moved down one of his vambraces, stopping at what she thought might be the release. Din nodded at her in confirmation and she soon eased both from his forearms — carefully cradling them in her arms before adding them to the growing pile beside the cot.

His head was buzzing again. Somehow, he had the forethought to remove the gloves himself while she set the vambraces down. Not wanting her to feel how clammy his hands had become, he wiped them on the legs of his flightsuit.

She glanced at the orange-tipped gloves now sitting on his thigh before she reached for his shoulder.

“There’s a—” he started to explain, but stopped when the pauldron came away in her hands moments later. His shoulder dipped slightly and he let out another long exhale, grateful he didn't have to lift his arms. His body continued to pulse with dull pain, but it seemed to lessen little by little with each piece of armor removed.

Tapping on his now armorless shoulder, Omera gave him another look and he carefully shifted position, twisting his torso so she could easily reach the other one. Her warm breath ghosted across his visor as they faced each other; Din hoped she couldn't feel the tremble in his arms at her closeness.

Soon both pauldrons were removed and joined the rest of his beskar’gam*. He glanced at the armor briefly and shivered, feeling exposed and vulnerable — but also, somehow, curiously tranquil.

Moving slower now — as if to keep from startling him — Omera then followed the edge of his rough cowl with her fingers. When she found where it fastened around his neck there was a pause before continuing. His mouth felt dry at the hesitation and Din nodded after a deep breath. He could feel her strong fingers work the clasps and he tried carefully not to flinch at how close her hands were to his helmet, fighting years of instinct.

When the heavy and still slightly damp fabric fell away, he swallowed again, feeling lighter.

“The bandoleer…” she whispered, eyes tracing from his left shoulder down to his waist, but didn't move to take it at first. It took him a moment to understand — Din fumbled to unbuckle his belt, ears and neck feeling warm when he noticed the playful quirk to her mouth. Omera didn’t comment however — only lifted the bandoleer slowly over his head and to the side where it joined the rumpled cowl.

There was another pause. He realized that his buy’ce* and cuirass were the only beskar pieces remaining and that Omera had stilled. Din tucked his chin to watch as her fingers gently traced the edges of the kar'ta* set into the breastplate, exploratory and reverent in their touch. He took a long breath that seemed to rattle around inside his helmet before looking into her face. Omera’s eyes were soft and hooded — he dimly thought that she was probably exhausted too.

He considered saying something, but the words were caught in his through when she leaned forward, going for the clasp on his flak vest normally hidden by the cowl. When he heard it disengage, Din turned so she could reach the backplate, holding his arm away from his body to give her room. He tensed and sucked in a quick, startled breath when a warm hand splayed across his back temporarily.

The other side came away easily — Omera gently rose to set the full cuirass down and Din released a heavy sigh, eyes closing beneath his helmet. He thanked the Maker silently: a task that would have taken him awhile on a _good_ day was over in just a few minutes.

The floorboards shifted. He felt the fabric of her dress brush against his knees and he tilted his head upward to look into her face as she stood in front of him. She responded with a wide smile and slowly bent at the waist, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder and giving it a tender squeeze. Omera stared into his visor, trying to meet his eyes.

“Better?”

Din found himself suddenly overwhelmed with a heady mixture of gratitude and a warm, unfamiliar feeling that he refused to name. Without thinking, he quickly reached up and cupped a hand around the back of her neck, surging upwards to bring their foreheads together — carefully gentle where metal met skin.

“Thank you,” he choked out.

Omera didn’t startle at the sudden outburst, but eventually he felt her relax into the unexpected gesture. Under his fingers her hair was thick and surprisingly soft, falling around them like a curtain; he hopelessly wanted to run his fingers through and stroke it. To take care of her as she’d done for him.

Coughing awkwardly, he instead pulled his hand away slowly and sunk back down onto the cot. Omera remained there, hand still on his shoulder and lips parted as if to ask a question — an almost aching look crossed her features as the moment hung. Gradually she straightened, hands retracting to smooth over the front of her dress. She glanced at the crib, then back down to the man before her.

“Sleep well,” she whispered, holding his gaze before turning to gently pad away. Din longingly watched her leave, throat tight with a confusing tangle of emotions.

After several quiet, lonely minutes he finally laid down, falling deeply asleep almost instantly despite the morning light just beginning to peek through the windows.

...

..

.

**Author's Note:**

> **Mando'a Translations**  
> beskar’gam = armor [▲]  
> buy’ce = helmet [▲]  
> kar’ta (beskar) = “Iron Heart”; a hexagonal symbol that adorns Mandalorian armor [▲]


End file.
